


Go home

by Thei



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Apologies, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Child Abuse, Gen, Misunderstandings, actions vs words, because he's damaged, billy's trying to apologize, he just goes about it in the wrong way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26466574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/pseuds/Thei
Summary: “Look”, Harrington says, and he sounds tired. “I’m not gonna hit you. You’re drunk. Go home.”“You want to”, Billy says, becausethis, he’s absolutely certain of. “You want to punch me in the face.”“Sure I do”, Harrington says, with a little laugh. “But I’m not going to. Go home, Billy.”Billy is about to open his mouth to argue, maybe throw the first punch just to get things started, when he looks up and finds that Harrington is looking down his nose at him.Go home.And suddenly Billygets it.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington
Comments: 26
Kudos: 145





	Go home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This One Thing For Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17803262) by [runs_in_the_family](https://archiveofourown.org/users/runs_in_the_family/pseuds/runs_in_the_family). 



Billy is drunk. He is drunk on _purpose_ , because he’s going to _have_ to be drunk to do what he’s about to do.

Apologize to Steve Harrington for beating his face in.

Max hasn’t spoken a word to him, or even looked at him, in a week. The tension in the Hargrove-Mayfield household is at an all-time high, and most of them are just walking around on eggshells, trying their best to avoid addressing it. Susan is nervous as always, Neil is getting suspicious, and Billy and Max … well, they simply don’t talk. Billy’s been doing his very best to not step on any toes for the last week. But still, Max flat-out ignores him. Won’t even look at him.

That’s not why he’s about to apologize to Harrington, though. No, the reason for that is that Harrington came back to school on Thursday, looking like he’d been run over by a truck. Billy felt as if he’d been punched in the gut when he saw him – because he’s seen that kind of damage on his own face, in the mirror, after a particularly nasty beating from Neil, and he knows how much it hurts. And even though the way Harrington acted that night was sketchy as fuck, Billy hates knowing that _he_ is the reason why someone hurts the way Neil sometimes makes _him_ hurt.

He doesn’t want to be like Neil.

And he hates that he _was_ , that night.

So. He’s apologizing, because there’s no better way to separate himself from Neil. Because Neil has never apologized for anything in his life.

The problem, he finds, is that apologizing is goddamn difficult. He realizes that he’s more like his father than he is comfortable with – because he, himself, can’t remember the last time he apologized for something and meant it (obviously, the times when Neil makes him say he’s sorry doesn’t count). And even though he’s been practicing – in his car, in the bathroom mirror in the morning, silently under his breath before he falls asleep – he hasn’t yet decided on how to go about it. What does one even say to the guy who you beat to a pulp for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? _‘Sorry I almost killed you there, I was a little upset and you lied to my face and I snapped_? Even Billy, who knows nothing about apologizing, recognizes that that would be a shit thing to say.

But he’s doing it. It’s a first step towards becoming a better person, or whatever the guidance counselor at his old school kept telling him. Billy can do this. He can be the bigger man. Own up to his mistakes. Be _responsible_.

Only, it’s hard to be responsible and ask for forgiveness, when the person you have to say sorry to is avoiding you. Billy looks for Harrington in the hallways all Friday, hoping to somehow get him alone. But it’s like he’s vanished into thin air. He’s at school, Billy knows it – because he’s asked Tommy and Heather and Gina, on three separate occasions, and they’ve all seen Harrington around; incidentally, just a minute before Billy shows up, each time. So Harrington’s _definitely_ avoiding Billy.

Billy can’t really blame him for it, all things considered. But it’s annoying. He’d like to get it over with, thanks.

“I’m sure he’ll be at James’ & Julie’s party tonight”, Tommy says and pats him on the shoulder. “You can finish kicking his ass there.”

Billy doesn’t say that he’s not looking for Harrington to finish what he started a week ago, and he has to resist the urge to shrug Tommy’s hand off. He has a reputation to uphold, after all. And it makes sense, that Harrington will be at the twins’ party. Everyone will. Harrington’s face may still be bruised and colorful but it’s on its way to healing, and after a week, the headaches should have subsided. Surely, the temptation to get blackout drunk and forget all about it for a night will be too strong to resist? Lord knows it’s what Billy himself would have done in that situation.

So yeah, Harrington will probably be at the party tonight. Billy will have his chance there. He’ll apologize, and get fucking smashed, and put this whole thing behind him.

Only, Harrington isn’t at the party. Billy is half-drunk already when he gets there – because he _has_ to be, he can’t do this sober – but Harrington isn’t there yet.

Billy keeps an eye out for him, and drinks a couple of beers, but no Harrington. Either he’s still avoiding Billy, or he hasn’t shown up. Billy grabs the closest person and leans into their space and asks if they’ve seen Steve, but only gets a shake of the head. He asks someone else. Still no.

Harrington isn’t here.

It makes something ugly and restless – like anger – curl in his stomach, and he grabs a glass someone had left on a table and throws it to the ground. It smashes into a thousand pieces, and for a second, there’s a lull in the noise of the party around him. He holds his breath, but then a couple of people laugh and someone else yells in excitement, and everything goes on. Because apparently, a drunk Billy Hargrove breaking things is not unexpected or unusual enough to warrant any kind of apprehension. It’s just who they know him as. Billy Hargrove. Who breaks things.

The broken glass crunches under the shoes of the people in the kitchen, and somehow he can hear it over the loud music and the many voices surrounding him.

He feels sick.

_It’s the booze_ , he tells himself as he bursts through the back door of the house and out onto the patio. _The booze_ , he thinks as he throws up in a dried-up flower bed.

He’s leaning one hand against the wall and wiping his mouth with the back of the other when he finally straightens up. For a second, the world is tilting in front of him, but it rights itself and he finds himself staring out into the darkness. The twins’ house is big, and kinda fancy. They have a big backyard, and there is no one but Billy out here. Everyone else is inside.

Everyone but Harrington, apparently.

He digs into his pockets for a cigarette, and fumbles a bit trying to light it. The air outside is cold and crisp, and threatening to sober him up a bit, so it’s a relief to fill his lungs with hot smoke instead.

Fuck it. If Harrington won’t come to Billy, Billy will just have to go to Harrington. It can’t be very far, after all – this is the better part of Hawkins. The part with the big houses, the expensive cars out front. Tommy pointed out Harrington’s place once, when they drove past. Billy can find it.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, and stumbles off in the dark.

***

Billy is drunk.

He is also standing frozen in front of a reddish-brown door with a glossy lacquered surface, with his fist raised. He’s going to knock. He _is_. It’s just.

He’s drunk, and he’s here to apologize, and he’s practiced what he’s going to say but he can’t really remember the words right now. What was it? He’s sorry for beating Harrington’s face in? Something like that.

He knocks, hard, before he can talk himself out of it. Takes a deep breath. Runs his fingers over the spot on the door that he hit, making sure he didn’t dent it in any way. Making sure he didn’t break it.

The surface is smooth beneath his fingers. And suddenly, it’s gone. Yanked away from him, and he’s suddenly blinded by the light from the hall as the door opens inwards. There’s a silhouette in the doorway and he has to quint and blink a couple of times before he sees that it is, in fact, Harrington.

Harrington does not look happy to see him.

“Hargrove”, Harrington says between clenched teeth. “What the fuck are you doing here.” It’s phrased like a question, but somehow it’s not. Billy answers it anyway.

“I need ta – t-to talk to you.”

He’s stumbling over his words already, and he hasn’t even started apologizing. _Shit_. Maybe he should have stopped drinking three beers earlier.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”

Billy licks his lips and takes one unsteady step forward, but is stopped by Harrington’s hand on his chest. He looks down at it, and then up. It’s like that night a week ago, all over again, and he can feel the same stirrings of rage in his chest at the _audacity_ of the guy …

But he doesn’t want to be like Neil. He’s here because he wants to be _better_.

“I wanted to –“

But Harrington cuts him off. “I don’t care what you want. Leave. Now.”

Billy feels himself frowning. This isn’t going the way he practiced. “I need to say something first.”

Harrington pushes him back, and Billy stumbles with it – has to reach out a hand and grab at some ornate metal thing by the door to avoid falling on his ass. Harrington’s voice is cold when he says, “I don’t care. I don’t want to talk to you. Leave.”

Billy huffs. His words are _shit_ , and Harrington doesn’t want them. Figures. It’s just as well, really, because what are words other than easy ways to tell lies? _Fuck_ words. Billy has never been good with them anyway. Actions, though? Those make sense.

And he knows what to do.

Swatting Harrington’s hand away, he plasters a grin on his face. It’s easy, to be this Billy. It feels familiar. Like coming home. (Not that coming home has felt good _once_ in the last ten years. But there’s a familiarity to it – like walking into a house where he may not be safe but at least he knows the rules.)

“You don’t wanna talk? Fine.” He angles his head to the side. “Hit me, then.”

It seems to take Harrington off guard. “What? No.”

This is actually a great idea. If he lets Harrington throw a couple of punches, it’ll cancel out what Billy did to him a week ago. They’ll be _even_. And it’ll be even better than an apology, because words are shit and don’t mean a thing, and Billy has to own up to his actions. Has to how responsibility. Neil taught him that.

And also, if he lets Harrington beat him up, he will prove to himself that he’s different from Neil. Because Neil has sure never offered to –

Billy almost huffs out a laugh. He can’t even finish the thought. Hitting Neil back? _Unthinkable_.

“Come on, do it. I won’t even hit you back.” This is true. Because Billy _owes_ Harrington this.

Harrington looks at him as if he’s grown a second head, and Billy can feel himself growing more and more frustrated the longer Harrington stares at him without raising his fists.

“Come _on_!” he barks, when he can’t take it anymore. “Fucking _hit me_! It’s a freebie, what’s your _problem_?”

Furrowing his brows, Harrington shakes his head.

“You’re drunk.”

_Stating the obvious, there_ , Billy thinks. “So?”

Harrington sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose. Billy is offended for like four seconds – is Harrington finding him _annoying_? – before he remembers the kind of headaches that a beating like he gave Harrington can lead to. When he does, he tastes something sour.

_It’s just the booze._

“Look”, Harrington says, and he sounds tired. “I’m not gonna hit you. You’re drunk. Go home.”

“You want to”, Billy says, because _this_ , he’s absolutely certain of. “You want to punch me in the face.”

“Sure I do”, Harrington says, with a little laugh. “But I’m not going to. Go home, Billy.”

Billy is about to open his mouth to argue, maybe throw the first punch just to get things started, when he looks up and finds that Harrington is looking down his nose at him.

_Go home._

His eyes narrows. Harrington is looking at him, and he’s not afraid. He looks tired, and resigned, but there’s something hard in his eyes that makes a tendril of fear travel down Billy’s spine. There’s something in the way that Harrington draws his shoulders back and looks down at Billy, that makes Billy think, _He knows_.

He licks his lips. Harrington’s been hanging out with Max and her creeper friends, apparently, and she could very well have told him. She hates Billy now, she could have spread his secrets around to punish him. Wouldn’t be the first time. For a second, fear and anger wars within him, but he realizes it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Harrington _knows_.

And he wants to punch Billy in the face, he just said so. But he’s not going to. And then he told Billy to go home. And suddenly Billy _gets it_.

_Go home_.

Harrington wants his pound of flesh. He just doesn’t want to get his hands dirty.

“And then you’ll forgive me?” Billy blurts out, wincing at how breathless he sounds. “If I go home?”

“What?” Harrington says, frowning. “No!” He gives Billy that look again, the one saying that Billy’s crazy and unhinged and unpredictable and dangerous, and – “You almost _killed_ me, man! It’ll take _way_ more than that for me to forgive you.”

Of course. It’s not like Billy thought it’d be easy, but a part of him had _hoped_ –

“Yeah”, Billy says, in a flat voice. “Yeah, no, I get it.” And he does. Billy is in the wrong here. Harrington doesn’t have to forgive him. Billy will have to work for it. Work it off. And a first step, apparently, is –

“ _Go home_ ”, Harrington says, again, more forceful this time. “You’re drunk.”

And Billy knows an order when he hears one. He’s drunk, not stupid. “Yeah, okay”.

So he turns his back on Harrington and the lit-up doorway, and walks down the stone path leading to the road. The soft light from the open door disappears when Harrington closes it, and Billy’s left in the dark until he reaches the road, and the street lights above.

Cherry Lane is on the other side of town, so it’ll be a long walk home, but that’s good. That way, he can prepare. Practice what he’s going to say when he gets home.

***

Billy … is drunk.

Not as drunk as he _wishes_ he was, for what he’s about to do, but he can fake it. His mouth is dry and his hands are shaking by his sides, but he’s knows what must be done.

He’s standing in front of the house on Cherry Lane, and he is about to apologize to Steve Harrington.

“You’re drunk”, he murmurs to himself; a reminder. “ _Go home_.”

_Actions_ , he tells himself. Actions speak louder than words. He’s always known it, and Harrington knows it, too. It’s why he told Billy to do this. Maybe it’s a test. To see if Billy is serious. To see if he really _means_ it.

Billy will show him, though. If Harrington would rather see someone else beat Billy’ face in than do it himself, well. It’s not like Billy’s not used to it. He can do this. As a first step towards becoming a better person, or whatever. He can _do_ this.

But God, he wishes he’d had more to drink.

“Drunk”, he says again, and makes himself sway where he stands. Playing the part properly. Harrington gave him the perfect excuse, after all – or maybe it was instructions. “ _You’re drunk_.”

The door’s not locked. He bangs it open, makes sure to swing it aside with enough force that the door handle dents the plaster in the wall. He walks inside, stomps his feet as if he doesn’t know how to be quiet. He can hear the TV droning on in the living room, and the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. He wets his lips, inexplicably nervous. It’s not like he’s never done this before.

Just, never on purpose.

Neil appears in the doorway to the living room, and the look on his face almost makes Billy change his mind. But he’s _apologizing_ , damn it. He’s trying to be _better_ , and Harrington told him to _go home_. _Be drunk_.

So he tilts his head back, and grins. “Hi, dad.”

“ _What_ do you think you’re doing?” Neil says, voice low. “Barging in like this, at this hour? Are you _trying_ to wake your sister? Don’t you have any respect for the members of your family?”

“Not my sister”, Billy says, because it’s familiar and true, and what he doesn’t dare to say out loud is _not my family_. This is enough, though, because Neil stalks up to him and grabs him by the arm. To an outsider, it would look like he was trying to steady his drunk son, but the grip is far too strong. Billy grits his teeth while Neil glances outside.

“Where’s your car?”

_Parked at the other side of town_ , Billy thinks. Out loud, he slurs, “Dunno.” The grip on his arm tightens. It hurts. But Billy doesn’t try to get away.

“You lost your car?” Neil says, slowly, and turns to look Billy in the eye. Billy swallows, but makes himself blink slowly. Like an owl.

“Dunno”, he says again, heart pounding. “Leave me ‘lone.” And then he puts both hands on Neil’s chest, and _pushes him away_. Not hard, just enough for him to take a step or two back. But from the look on Neil’s face, Billy might as well have thrown a punch.

Billy’s heart is beating hard in his chest and he’s holding his breath, because it’s been years since he’s done anything like this, and it didn’t end well for him then and he’s sure it won’t end well for him now, but – he reminds himself – he’s _apologizing_. Taking responsibility. Becoming … better.

It’s hard to think, though, when he’s pushed back against the wall with Neil’s forearm pressing against his neck.

Being in this position, is just a warning. Normally, this would be where Billy averted his eyes, said he was sorry, and took a couple of slaps or hits like a good son. But tonight, he can’t. _‘Go home’_ , Harrington had said, and his face had been colorful and sore, even a week after the beating. _‘Go home’_ , he’d said, and looked at Billy with cold eyes. Fully aware of what he was sending Billy home to.

Harrington had admitted to wanting to punch Billy in the face, after all. He just didn’t want to do it himself. _‘Go home’_. It meant that while he wouldn’t split his own knuckles open on Billy’s face, there were other ways for him to get what he wanted. For Billy to pay his dues.

Neil had never hesitated to punish Billy, after all. Probably enjoyed it. He, too, was known for breaking things. Like father, like son.

Not anymore, though. Billy doesn’t want to be like that anymore.

So instead of averting his eyes and saying he’s sorry, Billy fumbles with his hand along the wall until he reaches the little table they keep in the hallway. On it is a lamp. He can just reach the cord with the tip of his fingers. While refusing to look away from Neil’s eyes, and struggling to swallow against the arm across his neck, he manages to grab the cord, and yank the lamp down from the table.

Part of it is ceramic. It breaks against the floor like the glass Billy had broken earlier in the evening. The crash is loud, contrasting against the sudden stillness that follows, and that’s when Billy realizes that the TV has been shut off. If Susan’s around, she doesn’t make a peep. The only sound he can hear is the blood rushing through his veins, and his own harsh breaths. Neil’s eyes are narrowing, and Billy’s mouth is dry.

“Oops”, he says, because he’s still playing a part. It’s enough for Neil to yank him forward by the front of his jacket. Billy is sure he’s going to be thrown up against the wall again, is _bracing_ for it, when –

“Mom?”

They both turn to look. Max is outside of her room, wearing her pajamas and squinting against the overhead light. Neil abruptly lets Billy go, and he sways – and it’s not even an act, this time, he has to struggle to keep his balance.

“What are you doing up?” Neil says, and although his voice is still gruff and strained, he’s making an effort to soften it. Always making an effort, for Max.

Max looks between them, and Billy can’t bare it when their eyes meet. It’s the first time in a week that that happens. He looks away first, and fast, because he doesn’t want to see her eyes go hard and cold.

“There was a crash”, he hears her say, and can only assume she’s motioning to the broken lamp, because Neil hums.

“Yes, Billy accidentally broke the lamp when he came home. He’ll clean it up, though, don’t worry. Go back to bed, now. We’ll be quiet.”

Billy holds his breath. Tells himself that this is good. Waking up _precious little Maxine_ is a sure way to get what he’s after. But he still can’t draw breath properly, and he’s sweating, even though he’s cold.

He hears her door close, and half a minute later Neil grabs his hair and yanks his face up to look him in the eye. “Well?”

And he _knows_. He heard the order. So when Neil releases his hold on him, he bends down and starts picking up the broken pieces of ceramic and metal. He takes the biggest parts first, picks them up under Neil’s watchful eye, and passes him to go into the kitchen and deposit them in the trash. The dustpan and brush that’s usually under the sink are nowhere to be found, and it’s never good to keep Neil waiting, so he returns to the hallway and sweeps up the smaller shards with his hands.

He grits his teeth when Neil steps on his hand and grinds it into the floor, but doesn’t make a sound, even though it stings some of the shards buries themselves into his skin.

When he’s thrown the last of them away, Neil grabs him by the back of his neck, and wordlessly steers him through the house. Billy doesn’t make himself stumble – things are in motion already, he doesn’t have to pretend to be drunker than he is – he couldn’t stop this if he tried. They pass Max’s door, and the bathroom door, and the door to Neil’s and Susan’s bedroom – and Billy can’t see anyone in the living room, so he guesses that Susan is hiding away behind one of the two last ones – and when they reach the backdoor, Neil unlocks it and pushes Billy out.

Billy catches himself on the metal railing, and grabs onto it before turning around. Good thing, too, because he’s met with a fist to the face that would have made him fall down the stairs if he didn’t have a good grip. As it is, he tilts to the side and _almost_ falls, but not quite, and seeing how Neil walks out and quietly closes the door behind him, Billy hurries down the stairs – staggering, now, without pretense – because it’s better to walk of his own volition than be thrown down it.

And he’s trying to remind himself why he’s doing this. Trying to remember that it’s because he deserves it, because he _owes_ it to Harrington, because he’s trying to be _better_ –

– and he _knows_ he should stop where he’s standing, square his shoulders and turn around. Face Neil, _take it like a man_ –

– but he’s drunk. And scared. Instinct takes over.

He runs.

***

Too drunk, though. Too slow. He doesn’t make it ten steps before Neil catches up to him.

***

Billy is drunk, still. But not drunk enough.

He’s in pain. Everything hurts. Neil can be vicious when he wants to be, and Billy had been asking for it tonight. He doubts he would be in this much pain if Harrington had been the one to whale on him. Which, he supposes, was the point all along.

He breathes out harshly through his nose, and winces. It makes his face hurt, his chest, his arm. It’s dark, and kind of cold. A part of him is thankful that they took it outside for this, because the hardwood floor inside the house would have made him hurt even more. As it is, he can almost tell himself he’s comfortable, lying in the damp grass in the dark backyard. It smells like soil and a little bit like rot. It’s fitting.

He wonders, idly, if it’s too early for frost, or if he’ll be covered by it in the morning.

Groaning, he struggles up on his hands and knees, hissing when the movement ignites a thousand aches and pains all over his body. This is definitely one of the worse ones. Not _the_ worst one, but definitely the worst one since they arrived in Hawkins.

He’s glad it’s Friday – or, probably Saturday by now – because he’ll have the weekend to recover before he has to drag himself to school on Monday.

He should get inside.

Only, he’s pretty sure Neil locked the door, and this is part of the punishment, and he’s actually not sure he’d be able to make it up the stairs in this state, anyway. Besides, the garden shed is closer.

Somehow, he makes it to his feet and manages to walk, wobbly and hunched-over, to the shed. It is small, with a dirt floor and spaces between the planks making up the walls, but at least it’s not out in the open. There’s a folded-up tarp on one of the shelves, that should probably be in the carport instead, but Billy’s not complaining. He wraps it around himself and painstakingly lies down on the ground. Uses the lawn mower for a pillow.

And hopes that Harrington appreciates the effort, at least, even if he won’t forgive Billy yet.

First step, better person, or whatever.

***

Come Monday morning, Billy is on a double dose of painkillers. He’s still hurting.

He’s in his car – which he went to pick up yesterday, because God forbid Billy’s not ready to drive Max to school, even when she refuses to acknowledge his existence.

He didn’t see her at all, during the weekend. He kept mostly to himself, in his room or – when he was sure the family was out – in the bathroom, cleaning up. Trying to patch himself up. He’s never had to do stitches on himself before, but he put two of them in his hand to keep a gash closed on Saturday, after disinfecting it properly. They’re not the neatest, but he thinks he’s got a knack for it. He’s seen how doctors do them, after all.

This morning, he had four pain pills for breakfast and was already waiting in the car by the time Max showed up outside the house. He drives the car one-handed, and keeps the bandaged hand in his lap. Not much he can do about hiding his face, though.

They don’t say a word to each other during the whole ride, and Max exits the car without a glance back. He tries not to let it get to him. It’s how things are, now, after all.

He’s early. Early enough that he could easily get one of the best parking spots, the ones closest to the school building – the ones that the students at Hawkins High have started saving for him now, anyway, no matter what time he shows up. But Harrington usually parks a bit away from everyone else, these days, so that’s where Billy parks, too. He stays in the car while he waits. Smokes a cigarette, slowly and carefully. The smoke irritates his throat and it can make him cough, and coughing hurts like a bitch and makes his eyes water, but he still takes whatever comfort he can from it. Ignores the way his hands are shaking.

When Harrington’s BMW slides into the parking space a short distance away – still too early for there to be too many people around – Billy stubs out the cigarette and takes a couple of quick breaths (deep breaths are out of the question for a couple of days more, probably) before getting out of the car. He grabs his bag, and takes a hold of the roof of his car for balance while he closes the car door and locks it up.

Then he licks his lips, and looks up.

Harrington has gotten out of his car, too, and he’s standing by the open door to the driver’s seat, openly staring at Billy.

Billy knows how he looks. He knows his face looks as bad as Harrington’s did, a week ago, and he knows that the rest of him probably looks worse – because while Billy kept his hits on Harrington’s face, Neil likes to spread out the damage, preferably where it can be hidden by clothes – and he stands up as straight as he can. Lets Steve take a good look.

He’s thinking, _look_. He’s thinking, _I did what you said to do, I did what you wanted_. He’s thinking, _you said it’d take_ way _more than this for you to forgive me, but at least I took this first step, okay?_

He stands tall, and lets Harrington look his fill. Lets him soak in the mess that is Billy’s face. The bandaged hand. The way he still has to hold onto the roof of the car so he won’t sway.

He’s thinking, _I’m sorry_.

And he’s hoping that Harrington gets all that. That he takes the same kind of pleasure in looking at Billy’s injuries that he would if he had caused them himself. He hopes this makes them even. Hopes that it’s, at least, a first step, towards …

Well. Not forgiveness, maybe. Billy knows better than to hope for that already. But he doesn’t really _need_ to be forgiven. What he needs is to prove to Harrington that he is serious about his apology. About trying to be better. About not ending up like Neil.

Maybe it’s what he’s trying to prove to _himself_ that’s important.

Harrington, though? He’s frowning. He doesn’t seem to be getting it. Or maybe – Billy’s heart sinks in his chest – maybe it’s not enough. Maybe Harrington expected more. _Worse_. Maybe –

“What the fuck happened to you?” Harrington blurts, and there is something breathless in his voice.

Billy doesn’t understand. He’d think it was obvious. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’?” Harrington’s face is doing something complicated, with widened eyes and raised eyebrows. He throws out a hand, indicating Billy’s face. “You look like you’ve gone ten rounds against Muhammad Ali.”

“I –“ Billy says, and quiets. Something’s off. “You wouldn’t hit me.”

“So, what?!” And there’s a tint of hysteria in Steve’s voice now. “You went out and started a fight with someone random instead?”

And oh, _shit_. Fuck. He was _wrong_. Harrington didn’t _know_.

_Fuck._

Harrington continues, and his voice cuts through the sudden static in Billy’s brain. “You wanted to get your ass kicked so bad? What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, Hargrove?”

_So many things, apparently_ , Billy thinks. “I tried to apologize! You wouldn’t hit me, so. I did what you said.”

“Well, you have a shitty way to apologi– Wait, _what_? What do you mean, you did what I said?”

Billy motions to his face with his unbandaged hand. He doesn’t know where to go from here. He’d been so _sure_. “I – You –“

It hits him, then. He antagonized Neil for no reason, got his ass kicked for _nothing_. Because if Harrington didn’t know, then it doesn’t _mean_ anything, he won’t _get it_ , he won’t –

Fuck it.

“I went _home_.”

And oh, look, that’s _horror_ on Harrington’s face. Harrington’s smarter than Billy’s given him credit for, because he’s _getting it now_.

And if he didn’t _know_ before, well. He sure does now.

Maybe actions aren’t always the best way to go about things. Maybe words have merits, too. Billy wets his lips, gives a one-shouldered shrug, and tries for a smile. It probably looks closer to a grimace.

“So, anyway, sorry about your face.”

**Author's Note:**

> Schhh, this is my comfort-writing. Let me have this.
> 
> (Very heavily inspired by the beginning of "This One Thing For Me" by runs_in_the_family, because I read the "hit me" and "go home" and "you're drunk" and this is where my brain took me. Thank you, brain. And thank you, runs_in_the_family. Also, like usual, this was written during an intense Sunday writing session during which I was only half-aware, and has since been read through a grand total of once - so if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out to me; but please be nice about it!)


End file.
